20. Chapter 20

Cyn tossed one more corpse onto the pile by the metal gate while I collected as many arrows as I could find, putting them back into my quiver. We were running out of time, every second of frenetic preparation a lit fuse in my mind.

Elias ran a hand along his gruesome prayer beads, taking a deep breath as power sparked along the tips of his fingers. He gave a stern nod, and I took up position, too, an arrow nocked, aiming at the door.

A golden plaque labeled each of the four locks, named after the killers. Cyn tilted his head as he took the keys from his pocket, inserting them clockwise. One by one, he turned them.

Bargaining and Anger.

Click.

Denial.

Click.

Depression.

Click.

Acceptance.

Click.

Cyn's shoulders stiffened as he set his hands against the doors and pushed them open. My stomach flipped.

"They're already here!" I yelled as my arrow whizzed past Cyn, hitting a mage at the end of the corridor in the eye.

But he hadn't come alone.

About a dozen lightly armored mercenaries and spellcasters stood in formation on a circular platform, descending into the torch-lit hallway. The back row was equipped with spells and crossbows, those in the front brandishing short swords.

A metallic thunk sounded as the platform came to a halt, and the melee fighters stormed forward.

Cyn dodged a crossbow bolt, throwing two corpses from the pile into the hallway. I loosed another shot as a distraction, when a fire projectile whirled toward me.

I hopped to the side, just in time.

Irritation flashed hot in my chest as I pulled another arrow from my quiver. I hated missing my target, but at least I hadn't gotten hit either.

Unlike my brothers, I wouldn't be able to shrug off injuries.

Using the doors as partial cover, Elias stepped into the entrance beyond the wards' influence, and began to cast. The thralls rose and charged at the sword fighters, embroiling them in close combat, their erratic attacks taking the mercenaries' focus off us. The diversion allowed Cyn and Eli to repeat the process in relative safety, tossing more corpses into the corridor, reanimating them. For each ghoul our enemies cut down, another two came to replace it.

A cacophonous assonance of screams and slicing iron filled my ears. Soon, the first soldiers fell, the Undead ripping apart their armor and clawing at their flesh, teeth tearing into fresh meat to sate their eternal hunger.

It was absolute chaos—precisely what we needed.

My arrows kept whooshing over the tumultuous first line of battle, picking off the spellcasters and arbalists while the Undead kept them busy.

"I can't control any more thralls at once," Elias said, a tremble running through his hand. "I'm afraid you'll have to take care of the rest, brother."

"Your wish is my command," Cyn said, grinning.

"What about your ribs?" I asked while re-aiming my bow, the quiver on my back getting worryingly light.

"Pah. Ribs this, ribs that. Thanks to the ritual and our little break, I'm already healing." He took up his cleaver, tossing it in the air and catching it again. "Watch me."

Cyn weaved between the Undead, hacking away at the mercenaries. He whirled and twisted as he cackled, wet hatchet shining with red. The last magus hurled a mote of fire at him, burning away a spot of fabric on his shoulder and singing his skin, but he didn't even seem to notice, delirious in his blood frenzy. My arrow hit the mage between the eyes, and she dropped dead while Cyn decapitated the last two fighters with a single slash.

I finally lowered my bow, arms aching.

Everything was over as quickly as it began.

The speed of battle never ceased to amaze me. How fast blood spilled and how easily bones broke. How in such brief moments, lives ended, and victors rose.

Elias shuddered as he gripped my arm and pulled me along the hallway, gore squelching beneath our feet while I picked up a few arrows whenever I could. The remaining ghouls fell in line behind us as we passed, following their master.

I frowned at Eli. "You're getting paler again. The poison—"

"Yes, little one, I know." He regarded me with a soft, tired smile. "So long as you need me, I will persevere."

Crimson covered Cyn from head to toe. Viscera was splattered over his body, chunks of flesh clinging to his clothes, and his hair was slicked back, dyed a deep maroon. He licked the blood from his lips as he smirked, chest heaving.

"Shit, that was kinda fun!" Laughter rippled through him, but the grin slid off his face as he noticed the tremors in Elias' hands. He rounded us and wrapped our brother's arm around his shoulders, supporting him. "Can you keep going, Eli?"

"Do I have a choice? I cannot feast on the fallen now to regain strength. The visions would overwhelm me in my weakened state, take too long to fade. I'm no use to you passed out down here, overcome with death's delirium."

Cyn gritted his teeth before his smirk returned. "Don't worry, we're almost out of here. You'll be fine."

Elias put a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you for your endless optimism, my darling."

"Can you at least drink from the bodies, Cyn?" I asked.

He chewed on his right lip ring, finally shaking his head. "With the poison so far along, I doubt I could drink fast enough to make a difference. At least my Demon thinks so. I can feel the cold gnawing at my insides again already. Maybe if we used the ritual circle, but that's gone, too, and we don't know how to bring it back."

Cloaked in tense silence, we stepped onto the stone platform, the ghouls in tow. I pulled the lever at its side, and our slow ascent began.

"Malachar gave us a tour of the upper level once. It was when he'd just kidnapped us, hoping to win our approval for the demonic bonding through false promises of riches and unlimited power. Supposedly, the binding works better on willing hosts," Elias brought out. "I think I still remember the way to his office."

I shuffled my feet, tapping my toes on the ground. "What if Malachar doesn't have the antidote and we need to reach the laboratory? Do you know how to get there, too?"

"I do, little one." Elias said, laying a freezing hand on my cheek. "Don't worry."

Finally, light streamed from above, and my mouth went dry as I readied my bow again. With an awful, deafening creak, the platform ground to a halt.

We found ourselves alone in another corridor, wallpapered in gold and crimson, the floors red marble. Cyn mumbled an apology about needing his hands free to fight as he let go of our brother. Eli stabilized himself against the wall, wheezing as he trudged forward. The thralls shambled ahead, their movements and dexterity impacted by Elias' deteriorating condition.

We didn't bother wasting time on checking the closed doors we passed—our only goal was the office—until one flew open with a bang.

A tremble of adrenaline surged through me, the fingers on my arrow already loosening as Cyn swung his hatchet, but the emerging mercenaries raised empty palms instead of the weapons at their waists.

"Wait!" the tallest, broadest of them yelled, light mustache wriggling. "I'm not dying for that bastard Malachar. And neither are my men. I don't care how much he pays. Fighting Creators damned Demons and Undead wasn't in the contract. We just want to get out. Coin's no use if you're too dead to spend it, eh?"

The men behind him grumbled their agreement, shifty eyes sizing us up. Eli straightened, trying to rein in his breathing. He knew we couldn't afford to seem weakened.

Cyn clicked his tongue and waved his hatchet at the mercenaries. "If you wanna leave here in one piece, you better spill your guts. Figuratively or literally, your choice. All depends on your answer to my next question: Where's your boss, and how many guards are with him?"

Their leader scoffed, pointing. "Former boss. This way, last door on the right, that's his office. He's got one or two more guards with him, I reckon. The others already went down to the dungeons or fucked off when the guests hightailed it out of here."

Eli's minions drew closer, surrounding the group, and Cyn pressed his blade to the leader's neck, eyes slitting. "You sure about all that?"

The mercenary didn't flinch. "Why the fuck would I lie? I might be ugly, but I'm not stupid. I know when I'm neck-deep in boiling shit. Soon as the others didn't come back from their little excursion downstairs, I knew fighting would be no use. We hunkered down here, hoping you'd head straight for the exit, and we could wait things out. But when we heard your groaning ghouls, we figured we'd rather take the first peaceful step than have you barge in on us in the mood for a fight."

I could tell from the murderous glint in Cyn's eyes how much he wanted to kill these men. Or maybe it was because I did, too. But we couldn't waste precious minutes and strength in another battle.

Cyn growled, lowering his cleaver. "Run, little merc. If I find out you lied, I'm gonna hunt you down, chop off your dick and feed it to you. Understood?"

"Don't have to tell me twice," the man said, waving at his comrades. "Come on. Time to get out of this crap hole."

The Undead cleared a path, and the group ran down the hall, boots stomping as they disappeared around the corner.

We walked on, too.

Apart from our encounter with the deserting mercenaries, we were lucky: Not a soul stirred in the building.

We passed by a large, deserted auditorium, the only proof of Malachar's patrons even existing. Inside were sofas and comfy armchairs, food and drink spilled all over them, pooling on thick, white rugs. Pieces of discarded clothing—undergarments and corsets, tunics and dresses—were strewn across furniture and floor alike. Whoever had sat there, fucking and reveling while they watched our suffering as if it was a play—they'd all left in a hurry.

Cowards.

The seating was arranged around a row of four massive mirrors, a handful of smaller ones attached to their frames. Each mirror seemed to be dedicated to one of the kill rooms, connected to the wards.

Images flickered in the looking glasses, shifting and warping into changing locations in the dungeon chambers below.

My stomach knotted.

There was the church in Cyn and Eli's chamber. The oasis. The mountain of bodies. The metal throne surrounded by paintings.

I shook my head, tearing my gaze from the mirrors, and sprinted after Cyn and Eli to the end of the corridor. No point in lingering.

Cyn kicked the door open.

Inside the spacious, windowless office, behind a dark desk with bookshelves at its back, cowered Malachar in his chair. A single guard stood by his side, another lying dead on the floor, halfway across the room with a bolt stuck in his skull. A deserter, likely. One who had made up his mind too late.

The remaining mercenary aimed his shaking crossbow, but I was prepared. Faster. My arrow flew. It embedded itself in the man's neck, and he dropped, gargling.

"M-my boys!" Malachar sputtered, exposing brown teeth as he faked a nervous smile. "It's so good to see you. Now let's not make any rash decisions. You don't know where the antidote is, and without me—"

"Shut the fuck up!" Cyn yelled, tripping over his feet as he took a step forward. The poison was getting to him, too. "Not a fucking word out of you unless I allow you to speak!"

Malachar's mouth snapped shut, rheumy eyes wide as I fit another arrow to my bow, aiming at his shiny forehead. Next to me, Elias slumped against the wall, sliding down. My heart ached as his eyes closed, and the ghouls collapsed into heaps of dead flesh.

"Hand over the antidote, Malachar!" I bit out.

"Yes, of course." The old Elf nodded. He reached beneath his robes' collar, unclasping a necklace with a tiny key from his throat. His stubby fingers ran along the polished wood tabletop as if searching for something before pushing the key into an invisible lock. A quick clacking noise sounded as it turned, and a hidden compartment slid open. In it were two large glass syringes filled with black liquid, a small piece of parchment tied around each.

One was labeled Anger. The other Bargaining.

The antidotes.

Cyn stumbled forward; arm outstretched. "Give me that, you—"

"Ah, ah, ah." Malachar tutted, cutting Cyn off as he yanked the syringes from reach, holding them above the stone floor. "Not so fast. This is all there is. One for you. One for Elias. We wouldn't want them to fall and break, would we?"

Cyn braced himself on the desk, a low growl in his throat interrupted by shallow breaths.

"What do you want, Malachar?" I spat, calculating if I would be fast enough to catch the serum if I shot him. Neither Elias nor Cynthian could still do so, and I feared my mortal reflexes would not suffice.

"You take the antidotes, and we forget about all of this," Malachar said, his vile smile dripping with malice. "Then we will take you back into your chamber, all three of you, and you can recover. I'll let you live. Reinforcements are on the way, you know. You would be wise to surrender."

Malachar blinked, eyes darting, a twitch in his lips and nose.

He was bluffing. I would've bet a kidney there were no reinforcements, but he still held my brothers' salvation in his grubby hands.

"Never! I'm not going back—" Cyn coughed, doubling over.

My mind was racing as fast as my heart, my gaze flicking between my brothers and Malachar. If I could find a distraction, stall for a few moments to—

Cyn shot forward, letting out a strangled cry. He hurtled across the desk, grabbing at the syringes. Malachar's chair toppled, and he fell.

Crash.

I don't know who looked more horrified, Malachar or Cyn, both gawking at the floor. Both knowing that the second the antidotes broke, their lives were forfeit for entirely different reasons.

We had nothing left to lose.

I stepped to the side, took aim, and let my arrow go. It hit Malachar in the forehead, and he sagged. Sanguine trickled from the wound, his mouth slack.

My arms dropped, my hand around the bow weakening.

"Sorry, Myna," Cyn rasped. "Sorry Eli. I tried." He crawled around the desk on all fours, slouching next to Elias, taking his hand. "I couldn't … couldn't just go back. Not after all he's done to us. Couldn't … allow him to … lock you up."

I dabbed at my eyes, shaking my head. "No, I'm not letting this happen. I'm not letting you die. Where is the lab?"

Cyn's head fell to the side, eyes shuttering.

"Please!" I crouched, shaking Elias. "Please, Eli, wake up! Where is the lab?"

My brother startled. "End of … hallway, turn … left," he muttered. "Spiral s-staircase down."

I sobbed, suppressing the urge to give in to desperation and curl up on the ground with them.

"Hold on! I'll be right back!"

I jumped up and grabbed my bow, dashing out the door. My heart hammered as I ran along the corridor, fighting back tears. I took three steps down the stairs at once. Breathless, I reached the bottom, finding myself in a bright laboratory.

Gigantic magical orbs floated at the ceiling, their light reflecting off shelves full of alembics, jars of ingredients, and metallic alchemical tools. Work stations were set up throughout the space, bubbling cauldrons and shining, sharp implements scattered across them.

The sole person in the room turned to me, unarmed. She was an Elf like me, middle-aged and slender, gray streaking her brown hair. Or at least, part of her was elven. Her eyes were like those on Elias' chest, a deep, glowing orange with slitted pupils. She slowly set one foot in front of the other, and I raised my bow, aiming.

"Stay where you are! I need the collar antidote. Now!" I shouted, the air tasting of sulfur and bitter herbs on my tongue.

"I thought you might come. My name is Sylva, I'm the head mage," she said as she froze, her voice deep and sensual. The slightest smile twitched at the corners of her mouth.

Heat flared in my chest, rage scorching my bones. "I don't fucking care who you are. Do you have the damn antidote or not?"

"Not one for introductions, I suppose. Fine." She advanced toward me and pulled something from the large front pocket of her white robes: A syringe filled with black liquid, the needle covered by a metal cap. She held it out to me, eyes burning into mine.

I barked a laugh. "Do I look stupid enough to fall for your trap? Where are the other mages? Hiding for a surprise attack?"

"Dead in the dungeon—at your hands, Mynarin. A few fled. But I have no wish to fight or leave. I worked for Malachar because I couldn't afford my research otherwise. Assuming he is dead now, my loyalties lie with myself alone. I do not want to abandon my laboratory, and I do not want to see your brothers dead. In fact, they are my greatest achievement. Unlike the others, they remained almost entirely themselves and relatively mentally stable. They retained their individual personalities, emotional attachments, and ambitions—even after the bonding."

She pointed the antidote at herself.

"Like me, but Cynthian and Elias are stronger. Faster. They possess greater potential yet slumbering, and I want to see it fulfilled."

"You're making no sense!" I shouted. "If you cared for them, why did you let Malachar lock them up?"

Her head tilted as if I had asked a really dumb question. "To keep them close. Their imprisonment offered me optimal research conditions in a controlled environment. But I realize that time has passed. Now, I am no longer interested in keeping them caged. I'd rather see how they develop out of captivity."

Her expression was still blank. Unreadable.

I didn't trust her, but I lowered my weapon. This was my only chance to save Cyn and Eli. Every muscle in my body primed to fight, I edged closer to her, and snatched the syringe from her hand.

"How do I know it's the real deal? How do I know it won't just prolong their suffering? Malachar said he only had one dosage for each of them."

"He was telling the truth. We've run out of samples of the killer's blood to brew personalized antidotes, which is our usual method. I made this batch with my blood. I'm relatively confident it will work. After all, I used my blood for the summonings and bindings, too. As for the veracity of my genuine desire to save your brothers …" She paused, index finger tapping her lips. "I've been watching you today. You know your herbs, correct?"

"Yes."

"The other ingredients are Dragonroot, Moonbramble, Wyrmwing bark, and Bloodthistle."

My brows shot up.

Dragonroot for binding toxins.

Moonbramble for neutralizing them.

Wyrmwing bark for strengthening the immune system.

And Bloodthistle to stimulate circulation.

"Give half to each of them, injected as close to the heart as possible. And take this too," she said, hand dipping into her pocket again, pulling out a flat, rune-engraved gem. "This deactivates and opens the collars."

I trembled as I accepted the purple stone from her. "Thank you," I said, my voice thin. "But if you wish to save them, too, why won't you come with me?"

"If my antidote does not work, there is nothing I can do for them. For you. And I'd rather not be present if they perish. I'm not fond of strong emotions—in others or in myself."

I twisted the jewel before pocketing it. "What do you want in return for all of your help?"

Sylva shrugged. "I wish to see my creations live. If you make it, if you take over this facility, we can negotiate again. I would like to stay and continue my demonic research, no harm coming to any of you. Some of it might even be useful to you. But that is a discussion for another time. Now go. You might already be too late."